In Repair
by Simply Shelby
Summary: Late one night, Tony ends up in Gibbs's basement and tries to fix things. Spoilers up to Family. Second in the Forcing The Safeguard series.


**In Repair  
By Simply Shelby**

Newly re-instated Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NCIS, did not look up from his work when he heard slow and heavy footfalls on his basement stairs; he simply kept scraping away at the wood in front of him. He could count the number of times he'd locked his front door on one hand, so he wasn't surprised to have someone just walk in. He was even less surprised to hear his senior field agent give a weighty sight and take a seat on the second to last step.

His usual place, Gibbs observed, with some relief. At least he wasn't standing at the top, like he did when he was angry, or collapse somewhere in the middle when he had given up.

"I'm an idiot, Boss."

Gibbs was careful not to bang his tool against his boat-in-progress. Well, that was the last thing he was expecting to come from that man's mouth. "Ya think, DiNozzo?" He watched as Tony tensed, head in his hands, awaiting the inevitable had slap that followed that sharp, sarcastic tone. However, Gibbs had no intention of walking across his basement simply to smack the agent when he could accomplish so much more by simply scraping his tool against the wood where he was.

"I shouldn't have gotten so involved. I know that now."

Gibbs's voice was firm. Damn that woman. "You're not the first to get too involved undercover." Gibbs knew that Tony knew about France and Serbia and probably every other mission he and Jen had covered.

"I should have pulled out."

Gibbs could see the kid wasn't going to budge, so he switched tactics. "Yeah. You should have taken that job in Spain."

Tony's head jerked up so fast, Gibbs was sure it was going to protest later. "How do you—" He shook his head. "Never mind."

Silence reigned for a few long, cleansing moments.

Tony's voice was hesitant the next time he spoke. "I should 'a done this a long time ago… but I hoped you might, well, you know…"

"No, I don't know." His tone was sharp, demanding Tony to cut to the chase. He was in no mood for long, drawn-out explanations.

"Apologise."

Gibbs's hand went against the grain in a loud, scraping noise which seemed to fit his response to the word. "Excuse me?"

Tony swallowed. "Apologise. Explain. Thank me. Do anything but ignore the fact that there's something wrong."

It was true. There was something wrong between Tony and him, but now Tony was sitting on his second to bottom step, sans beer, and talking. Something, he hadn't done since Gibbs had come back. It all felt right, normal. He couldn't whip out the "Apologising is a sign of weakness" crap because Tony had given him two other choices. That, and he'd apologized to Tony too many times to count. But, he couldn't take the second route because he had no clue why he'd done what he'd done. And, even if he owed Tony all three, he could only voice the last one. "Thank you, Tony."

Thank you for sticking around. Thank you for giving me a family to take care of. Thank you for taking care of the team when I couldn't. Thank you for _leading_ the team. Thank you for paying those utility bills. Thank you for not taking that job in Spain. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for saving Maddie's life. Thank you for choosing us instead of Jeanne. Thank you for coming down here and fixing things.

"You're welcome." The kid's voice was warm, giddy.

"The sandpaper's in the bucket. And the…" Tony hated bourbon. "There's actually some beer in the far cupboard." He suspected Tony'd been the one to put it there.

"I know." He hopped up from the steps and made his way over to join Gibbs by the boat.

"I didn't love her," Tony admitted eight and an half beers and a few splinters later. "But I…" he chuckled, self-disparagingly, thinking of Jeffery White, "I really liked her…"

Gibbs said his part, verbatim, "Yeah… yeah, I can see that." Only this time, he wasn't looking at the blood splatter on the side window and a dead body in the back seat. This time, he was looking at a kid who was the closest thing to a son he'd ever had… and right now he was a pretty broken one. Not to mention bone drunk.

"Let's get you upstairs," he suggested, not really expecting an answer, "You need some sleep, Tony." It wasn't the first time, or even the second, his senior field agent had taken his spare bedroom for a night, or a few weeks, but it had been a few months.

Even if things were being put back to normal, Gibbs knew they weren't even close to being fixed.


End file.
